


Strike Us Like Matches

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Scott, background Allison Argent/Lydia Martin - Freeform, college house party, legal alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott tries not to think about it too hard. Stiles and Derek are perfect for each other in every sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Us Like Matches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katarama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/gifts).



> HTGAWWM Tumblr fic prompt: “Whoever he is, I’m glad there’s some eye candy around here.”

Scott knows exactly when Stiles arrives even though he’s in the back with Lydia, nursing what he thinks is supposed to be Jungle Juice, but in reality is a syrupy mess of tequila soaked strawberries. There’s this uproar that comes from the house, a wave of greeting that ripples through the party attendees. Lydia gives him a knowing smile, as if she can sense the way Scott’s heart clenches in anticipation.

“Stiles is here,” she says, like he doesn’t already know. She leans forward to peek through the sliding glass door, eyes sliding over the open layout of the house. “Who’s that with him?”

“What’s he look like?” Scott asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Tall, dark, and broody aka Stiles Stilinski’s boyfriend: Derek Hale. The reason for Scott’s rapidly deflating excitement. Not that Derek isn’t as equally awesome as Stiles, he is. That’s the problem. 

“Same height as Stiles, buff as fuck, dark hair,” she says. “Whoever he is, I’m glad there’s some eye candy around here.”

With that description, it could be any number of frat boys from the nearby university, so Scott leans forward and gets a look himself. It is Derek, like he thought, he looks sinful in a deep green henley that hugs all of his muscles, particularly tight around his pecs. His hair short and sculpted in contrast with Stiles’ artfully tousled hair and pre-torn jeans. 

“That’s Derek,” Scott says, trying not to sound too put out. Lydia raises an eyebrow at him in judgement.

“Stiles’ boyfriend?” she asks. Scott just nods at her, morosely.

Everyone knows about Stiles and Derek. Beacon Hills is a small town and the college scene is smaller. Everyone knows about the high school sweethearts that met as a freshman and a senior. How they patiently bided their time until Stiles was legal to declare their intentions. Not that anyone was surprised, they way they were always attached at the hip. Since the very first day when Stiles stumbled into Derek and spilled his soda all over them both. 

There’s a lot of “love at first sight” rhetoric surrounding the two, but Allison went to school with them and said she was afraid Derek was going to punch Stiles. The way she tells it, Derek grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him close, only to have Stiles squirm away and tell him candidly just how he could go fuck himself. It was graphic, Derek was charmed. 

“You’re not going to let this ruin your night, are you?” Lydia asks, with a very serious look on her face. She might know Scott too well. She’s the one who had to coax the story of Stiles out of him in the first place.

Scott and Stiles had a similar meet-cute. They had an intro anatomy class together last year and Stiles tripped into the seat next to Scott, hitting him in the face with his backpack. It was followed by the most profuse and sincere apologies Scott had ever heard and promises to make it up to Scott. Which was when Scott told Stiles he could make it up to him with coffee. 

They met for coffee and lunch and study dates and kept up a steady stream of text messages that never made it past salacious, but edged into flirty. At least, flirting from Scott. It turns out that Scott had no idea what was going on. One minute he was firmly planted in the idea that he was going to ask Stiles on a date and the next -- Derek interrupted their anatomy study date with a kiss to Stiles’ _mouth_ and Scott’s heart stalled up in his chest. 

That wasn’t the worst part either. The worst part was Stiles making Derek take off his shirt so he could show Scott the muscles in his boyfriend’s nicely developed shoulder girdle. Bulging deltoids that disappeared into biceps and triceps, Derek’s pronounced pectorals, both major _and_ minor. Scott had to watch Stiles walk his gorgeous, long fingers along Derek’s defined muscular structure and it was torture. Scott was turned on and confused all at once, he fled as soon as he could. 

Never being one for “friendzone” bullshit, Scott adjusted his internal expectations and continued his friendship with Stiles. Everything that drew Scott to him was still there, Scott just couldn’t get to know him _past that_ because, well, boyfriend. So, they’re friends. Scott allowed himself a binge weekend of drinking and mourning the loss of a maybe-relationship with Stiles, but then he moved on. Well, tried to. 

There’s been more than one occasion where he’s blown off plans with Stiles because he didn’t have the energy to pretend that he doesn’t want _more_. Derek’s presence during a few of their hang outs as led to overwhelming confusion on Scott’s part. He’s at the point where it’s hard to discern whether or not his crush on Stiles has turned into a crush on Stiles _and_ Derek. 

“It’s not ruining anything,” Scott says, waving it away. He tries not to think about it too hard. Stiles and Derek are perfect for each other in every sense. 

“Whatever, you’re already getting quiet,” Lydia says, just as Allison drops into her lap, a red cup in hand. They kiss in greeting, but it turns into a slow burn makeout session that has Allison’s hand fisted in Lydia’s hair and their tongues dragging against each other, to the point that Scott can actually watch where they disconnect and reconnect. It’s like a dance and Scott’s stuck on the collide of their lips until Allison pushes Lydia back and Lydia shoves her hands very obviously up Allison’s shirt. Then, it’s just invasive and Scott has to get up to fill up his drink. 

Of course, when he gets to the kitchen, Stiles is conducting a line of people taking shots, pouring drinks and shouting “cheers, motherfuckers!” before gulping the alcohol down. Scott watches the pale line of his throat with a hyperfocus that he always gets when it comes to Stiles. The curve of his adam’s apple, the way his sternocleidomastoid stands out when he tilts his head just _so_. Scott could wax poetic about Stiles’ neck muscles, it’s toeing the line of desperate and pathetic that Scott apparently can’t ignore when he’s two cups into some of the most potent Jungle Juice he’s ever tasted. 

“Scott McCall!” that’s Stiles, loud and inappropriate, knocking through people to drag Scott by his side. He’s already pink and flushed and smells delicious, warm and post-shower, like Axe body wash and whip cream vodka. Scott goes easily, eyes casting around for Derek. Their gazes meet and Derek smiles fondly, rolling his eyes, like they’re conspirators in Stiles’ shenanigans. 

“I’ve missed you,” Stiles says and there’s a shot in Scott’s hand, Stiles’ fingers against his, the other hand steadying his elbow. Touching at too many points, Scott wants to step back, but he can’t make himself move, too captivated by the way Stiles looks at him and bites his lip. “You owe me shots and maybe some dancing.”

That makes Scott laugh, heady and excited, unable to contain himself around Stiles’ infectious energy. That makes Stiles smile at him, pleased. 

“You have a dance partner,” Scott says, tipping his shot glass towards Derek before he takes it without waiting, something to do with his hands. Derek moves closer, taking the shot Stiles offers him. Stiles takes Scott’s glass to refill it, bringing his own up so they can all toast before downing them. Scott sputters, throat burning from the back-to-back shots, vodka sitting heavy in his stomach. He’s warm, too warm. 

“I don’t dance unless I’m obliterated,” Derek says. They’re in a triangle, blocking out everyone else. Derek’s shoulder presses into Scott’s and he smells the exact same as Stiles. The same warmth, the same body wash. Scott wonders if they took a shower together before they came to the party and immediately shuts that thought down. It makes him feel invasive and weighted with an insatiable curiosity. “So you get to entertain him.”

“I don’t know if I’m prepared for that responsibility,” Scott says, truthfully. It might sound like a joke and make Stiles’ head tip back in exuberant excitement when he laughs out loud in response, but Scott’s being serious. There’s another one of those reluctantly fond looks on Derek’s face again when Scott meets his eyes. 

“Too bad,” Derek says, accepting a red solo cup when Parrish hands him one over Scott’s shoulder. He peels himself away from Scott and Stiles, already prepared to leave them alone. “He’s all yours.”

Then, he’s gone. 

“You heard him,” Stiles says, after Scott picks his jaw up off the floor and turns back. Stiles is unnecessarily close, shoulders pressed together. “You’re all mine.” 

With a wicked grin he pulls Scott into the room everyone is dancing in. It’s louder in here than in any other room, speakers in the corner blasting EDM, bass reverberating through the walls and Scott’s feet, pulsing through him. Stiles starts moving his hips in time with the music. It’s far more graceful than Scott would have thought, especially from someone who is notorious for being a clutz. 

Stiles doesn’t hesitate, he just goes for it, loses himself. Head tipped back, mouth parted, he lets go and Scott can’t help but follow. They drift together, hips bumping without rhythm until Stiles’ hand are on Scott’s hips, guiding him closer. They rock into each other and dance until they’re sweating. The vodka makes Scott run hot, almost so lost in it he forgets, really, that’s Stiles is off limits. That he shouldn’t have his hands under Stiles’ shirt, along the curve of his hip, that it’s a terrible idea to be grinding against him. 

It’s almost too much, when Scott really thinks about. His hands feel like brands when he peels them away from Stiles, fingers trailing over his skin, reluctant to stop touching. He’s stopped dancing and Stiles meets his eyes, concerned. 

“Too hot,” Scott says over the music and ducks to get away from it all, into the kitchen. It’s quieter and there’s less people, just a small group in a circle. Allison is one of them. Her eyes rove his face and then behind him, to where Stiles is sticking close. Without a hint of acknowledgement, she shoves a shot at him, like she knows he needs it. 

Grateful, he knocks it back and watches Stiles do the same. Scott wonders if Stiles’ gaze has always felt like a metric ton or if this is a new development. Maybe it’s a product of the alcohol. 

“We should find Derek,” Stiles says. The suggestion causes Scott’s stomach to knot up in anticipation. It’s excitement. He wants to find Derek, he really does. Scott feels himself smile.

“Yeah, we should,” he says, and watches in fascination as Stiles’ head dips down bashfully, teeth biting at his lower lip, pleased for some reason that escapes Scott. 

Stiles takes the lead and Scott follows at his back, grabbing his shirt when they make their way through the squirming mass of the dance floor. Without explanation, Stiles reaches back and grabs Scott’s hand, proceeding to drag him around the party. Scott can’t think about anything except for their hands touching, unable to tell where Stiles takes them or who they stop to say hello to. Everything is reduced down to Stiles’ hand in his, his slender fingers lacing through Scott’s before changing his grip, making their palms kiss. 

When they get to the backyard, their hands are loosely laced, holding on by their fingertips.

“I found you!” Stiles shouts across the whole yard. Scott contemplated letting go, but Stiles is sliding closer to get a better hold on Scott’s hand before dragging him through the yard towards Derek. There’s no reason to put up a fight so Scott just goes and hopes that he doesn’t get punched in the face for holding Stiles’ hand. It might be worth it to get punched at any rate. Stiles’ hand feels nice in Scott’s, he can’t regret it. 

“Hey babe,” Derek says, smiling at Stiles. The way Derek smiles at Stiles is almost indescribable. Scott knows that no one has ever looked at him like that: eyes soft around the edges, expression blooming open with adoration. It makes Scott feel like an outsider looking in on something private. That’s how everyone must feel when they watch Stiles and Derek interact. 

Still, Scott goes along when Stiles pulls him, letting go of his hand to fall into Derek’s lap and drag Scott down next to them so that Scott is pressed against Derek’s side. Scott can’t look away when they kiss in greeting, Stiles’ hands on the side of Derek’s face, tongues slick when they touch, lips moving together. 

They part easily and Stiles plucks the cup out of Derek’s hand to gulp on, holding it out to Scott. Scott drinks from it too, because why not? Feeling hot all over when Stiles keeps watching him, half out of Derek’s lap and onto his. Scott didn’t realize how close they were until this moment. If either of them leaned forward, their faces would be touching. 

Scott knows exactly how he wants their faces to touch too. Preferably their lips. 

That’s a terrible thought.

“I think you’ve been avoiding me,” Stiles says, one eyebrow raised in judgement. It’s only a little loud, as if he’s teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk. His eyes glitter, alcohol bright, and Scott wouldn’t dream of looking away. 

“No,” Scott says, in vehement protest. 

“You have,” Derek says, turning to look at Scott with his eyebrow raise. Stiles makes a loud mouth-noise that’s somewhere between a raspberry and a squawk and pushes Derek’s face away. 

“Privacy baby,” he says. Derek rolls his eyes and plants a kiss on Stiles’ cheek before turning back to Parrish. That’s confusing, because there’s no real privacy when they’re pressed together like this. Scott notices Derek’s hand is resting on his thigh, thumb dragging back and forth over his jeans. He isn’t sure when that happened.

“Avoiding me, Scott,” Stiles says again, determined to have this conversation, it would seem.

“Maybe,” Scott says, with a slow shrug.

“Why?” Stiles says, dropping his head with a groan. “I like you, McCall, you shouldn’t avoid us.”

“I like you too?” Scott asks. It’s supposed to be a statement, but it’s not. Derek’s thumb hasn’t stopped trailing Scott’s leg and Scott is pretty sure that means something. Stiles smiles in encouragement. 

“I thought you did!” Stiles crows, tipping his head back to laugh. When he’s done, he has a serious expression on his face again. “But then you got freaked out by the fact that I have a boyfriend.” 

Scott squints at him. 

“I -- What?” 

He’s missing something here. Stiles sighs, like Scott is making things harder, when in reality, Scott is just confused. 

“We wanted --” Stiles starts and then pauses and shimmies off Derek’s lap onto Scott’s. Derek moves his hand and drapes his arm across Scott’s shoulders, but doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge that his boyfriend is sitting in Scott’s lap, eyes big and sincere. 

“We wanted to get to _know you_ ,” Stiles says, fingers teasing hair at the nape of Scott’s neck. He’s a hot weight across Scott’s front and Scott’s lips are tingling from how badly he wants to lean forward and kiss Stiles. “Both of us. Well, me first and then Derek met you and thought you were cute, but then you stopped flirting.”

“I stopped flirting because you have a boyfriend,” Scott says, resisting the urge to look at said boyfriend, instead stares into Stiles’ eyes again, trying to figure out where he’s going with all of this. The smirk on Stiles’ face suggests he’s missing something very important about the whole thing. 

“We encourage flirting,” Stiles whines. “We want you to flirt, so we can flirt back, so it can be a huge flirty mess.”

“We?” Scott asks, slowly. It sounds like Stiles and Derek want _him_. That’s ridiculous, that’s inconceivable, that’s --

“Has he figured it out yet?” Derek asks, giving them his full attention. At some point, Parrish disappeared, leaving the three of them clustered on the bench. Dereks’ leaning into Scott’s space now too, smirk playing on his lips. 

“Not quite,” Stiles says, watching Scott with an intensity that Scott doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. “I have an idea. How about you watch me blow Derek and then tomorrow, when you’re more sober, we can talk about whether that’s something you want to do more.”

“The blowing?” Scott asks, as Stiles spills from his lap and pulls him up. Derek takes the lead and Stiles takes Scott’s hand. Stiles smiles at Scott over his shoulder as Derek laughs, guiding them through the people and up the stairs. 

“Yeah, the blowing,” Stiles says, pushing him through the door to Allison’s guest room. They form a loose triangle when they’re finally in the room, staring at each other. The mere idea of watching Stiles suck a dick is making Scott’s pulse flutter in anticipation, just buzzed enough not to question it. 

“Scott,” Derek says. Scott likes the way his mouth forms the word, like he’s tasting it or caressing it, easy and slow. “Do you want to see Stiles suck my dick?”

Scott drags his gaze away from Derek’s mouth to look at Stiles. He’s biting his lip again, smile threatening to break through the demure expression on his face. Scott’s heart rockets around his chest, nerves lighting him up. He’s half-hard just thinking about it. 

“Who wouldn’t?” Scott asks, hand at his crotch, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. That seems to be the right answer. Stiles laughs out loud, throwing his head back, and even Derek chuckles, eyes on Scott’s face. It makes Scott feel like his skin is too tight, nerves sparking from the gaze alone.

“Good answer,” Derek says, a grin on his mouth now. Scott can’t help but stare incredulously. Derek Hale smiles are pretty exclusive to Stiles and yet here he is: smiling at Scott like he can’t help it, grabbing Scott’s wrist to pull him in. They collide at the mouth, lips and teeth and tongue moving together easily, making Scott’s head swim. Derek is large and hot and Scott can’t help the way he groans and fists his hands in Derek’s shirt, shoving him back into the wall. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, a loud exhale from behind Scott. That jerks Scott out of it and he peels away, feeling embarrassed. Stiles steadies him with a hand on his lower back, eyebrows raised. “No, please go on, I would watch that all night.”

“I’d rather watch you,” Scott says, stepping away, surprised at the way his voice is a low, aroused rumble. Stiles laughs again and moves in for a kiss, easy and expected. It’s everything Scott has ever thought it would be. Slick, hot, slow and demanding all at once. They kiss like they’re practiced at it. Stiles pulls away too soon, panting against Scott’s mouth. 

“Take a seat,” he says, with a wink. Scott complies, peeling his jeans open as he goes, but leaving his dick in his pants, not wanting to be the first one who takes their clothes off. Stiles walks over to Derek and pulls his head forward by his shoulders, steering him into a kiss that’s more graceful than anything else. Their teeth bite into each other’s lips, tongues chasing each other. Suck, nip, Stiles’ blunt nails digging into the back of Derek’s neck. 

It’s obvious that they do this often, synced together, trading kisses without missing a beat, parting for shirts to pass their faces. They take turns with shirts and pants until they’re both standing their in their briefs and socks, dicks straining at the material. In his own pants, Scott is leaking, hard and aching. 

Stiles kisses Derek until he’s backed against the wall and drops to his knees, pulling Derek’s briefs down as he goes. Derek’s dick springs up, red and wet at the tip, swollen and begging to be touched. When Stiles gets his hand on it, Derek’s head falls back against the wall with a thud, eyelids fluttering. The look on Stiles’ face is enthralled, eyes on Derek’s face as he runs his pink tongue up the stem. 

Scott watches with rapt attention as Stiles licks Derek’s dick, getting it shiny with spit, before taking it down, mouth stretching around him. It’s skilled and precise, the way Stiles bobs and speeds up, just to slow down again, torturous. His long fingers curl around what doesn’t fit in his mouth and Scott aches for that touch, wants it so badly it feels like a punch in the chest.

The whole picture before him has to be the most obscene thing that Scott has ever seen. Even the most raunchy porn can’t beat this: The way Stiles looks on his knees, dick hard and poking out of the waistband of his briefs, unconcerned with touching himself. His mouth is gorgeous and deep red around Derek’s equally flushed dick. Everything is tunneling down to where they’re connected. Scott’s almost unaware of his own arousal, so intent on watching Stiles bob on Derek’s dick, Derek’s big hand in Stiles’ hair, yanking. 

Derek’s louder than Scott would have expected, gorgeous noises escaping his mouth. He does nothing to stop them, neck muscles flexing, adam’s apple jumping when he moans. It makes Scott want to bruise up his skin, press kisses to every part of Derek that’s quivering with anticipation. The muscles of his stomach twitch, quads flexing gorgeously. Scott wasn’t aware of how thick his legs were, but now he’s _very aware_. 

“You should touch yourself,” Derek says, pale eyes on Scott’s face when Scott manages to rip his gaze away from the length of Derek’s dick disappearing into Stiles’ mouth. 

“Uh, y-yeah,” Scott says, shoving his pants down hastily, getting his hand around his dick. He moans loudly at the contact, nerves fizzing with pleasure. Stiles pops off Derek’s cock to watch him, eyelids heavy and half-hooded. Scott can’t meet either of their eyes as he spreads his legs and fucks into his hand, desperate for the friction. He wants to come more than anything. 

When he looks up, Stiles’ mouth is hanging open watching him, eyes on _him_ , one hand still working Derek. The attention makes Scott feel flushed and hot, driving the need to orgasm harder into his spine. He jerks himself off with intent as Stiles goes back to sucking Derek off, getting down to business with his hand around his own dick. 

It’s a blur of sensation from there. Scott’s focus zeroes down to his dick, Stiles’ mouth around Derek’s cock, Derek groaning and shaking against the wall, Stiles’ hand on his dick has he sucks Derek off. It’s too much and not enough all at once and Scott comes into his hand like a wave crashing, thighs shaking from the dizzying force of it. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” he hears Derek say, like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless and ragged. Scott grabs his shirt to he can wipe his hand and slumps back, watching as Stiles works Derek harder and faster now, watches the way Derek hunches and tenses when he comes in Stiles’ mouth. Scott watches the way Stiles’ throat works when he swallows, pink tongue coming out to lick his lips, resting his head against Derek’s thigh so he can jerk himself to completion with Derek running his hands through his hair. 

It’s sexy and intimate in a way that makes Scott’s head swim. Instead of following that train of thought down the rabbit, Scott chucks his shirt at Stiles so Stiles can wipe his hand and falls back on the bed, staring that the ceiling, dazed. 

The bed dips and Scott can see the dark wash of Derek’s jeans next to his face. There’s a hand in his hair, trailing through it. Scott lets his eyes sink shut, but they flutter open again when he feels Stiles stand over him, legs between his, half on the bed.

“Was that okay?” Stiles asks. There’s that demure look again, what Scott is beginning to recognize as the face Stiles makes when he’s feeling unsure. Scott didn’t catch it before, carefully hidden behind a cocky facade, but maybe watching someone suck another someone’s dick breaks down those barriers. 

“Yeah,” Scott says. It was more than okay, it was the best thing Scott has ever witnessed. He wants to do it again, he wants to be there everytime they touch each other from now on. It might be a perpetual feeling of looking-through-the-blinds when he’s around them, but he’ll take it, if only they let him be there. He’ll stay in their peripheral for as long as they’ll let him. 

“Thank _god_ ,” Stiles says, a heady exhale. He slinks over Scott’s body and kisses him deeply, teeth on Scott’s lips, tongues dragging together. It’s wet and hot and Scott’s hips twitch in acknowledgement of just _how_ perfect it all feels. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk,” Scott hears Derek say, just before the bed dips more and Derek lays down more towards the top of the bed. His voice sounds thick and fuzzy with sleep. Scott’s attention is brought back to Stiles when he feels teeth on his neck, Stiles’ mouth a firm suction. He hopes he gets a bruise. A claim. “About a dating thing.”

“We want to date you so hard,” Stiles says, dragging his teeth across Scott’s ear lobe, biting and sucking, dick firming up in the crease of Scott’s thigh. Scott drags him in for another kiss, a affirmation. Scott’s gut aches when he thinks about it, wanting it, wanting them both. 

**Author's Note:**

> now [queerlyalex](queerlyalex.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! Thanks for reading<3


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